


Warmness on the Soul

by Bloodwolf



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, doting, quick massages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-07 16:12:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7721371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodwolf/pseuds/Bloodwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanzo's had a long mission. McCree's there to help.</p><p>Update: McCree comes back, and the favor is returned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You've been there from the start for me

**Author's Note:**

> Ha. Well look who it is. Haven't written anything in about four years so this is all over the place. Honestly thought it would be jojo porn.
> 
> Well, it has muscles anyway.
> 
> Plus, I got McCrees American skin and pixel spray, so I thought it was a good excuse to write this.
> 
> By the by, went with Blizzards say on Hans legs, because I honestly thought it was obvious, but eh. 
> 
> Title came from the Avenged Sevenfold song of the same name.

It had been a long, long, _long_ and infuriating mission. It involved Talon, some international weapons smuggling, a lot of scouting and an explosion way too close for comfort (for once not entirely Junkrats fault), and although successful, all Hanzo wants to do now is just slip off his leg castings, shower, and sleep, preferably in that order. If this list involves a certain cowboy he can't complain.

Even hours after the mission, at the hanger of base Gibraltar, the team pours out of the carrier, still bustling with pride over a job well done, albeit weary. Lena blinks from person to person in a blur of cyan, offering her sincere complements and congratulations on a job well done (not to you though. Its not personal, not anymore, she just knows that now is not the archers best mood. They'll come tomorrow, when he feels less like hellfire). 

As soon as the team is settled, Morrison, alongside the good Dr. Ziegler, gives the group a quick once-over before deciding to delay the post-mission report until tomorrow morning. The former commander dismisses everyone with a quick good job and an order to get some rest. Just as soon as it was allowed, Hanzo nearly races out of the hanger, ignoring the worrying stare from Dr. Ziegler and the curious glances from his teammates. 

( _Friends_ , a quiet voice in the archers head corrects. )

( _Family_ , another chimes louder, almost sounding like a certain cowboy.)

The archer limps through the empty corridors as quick as his cramping legs would allow him and quiet relief flows through him as he spots the door to his quarters. As soon as he crosses the threshold, he's not surprised by what he sees, but his mind still makes a double take.

Inside, McCree sits, unassumingly, in the middle of Hanzos bed, dressed in his casual attire (not without the hat, never without the hat), thumbing through a game on his personal tablet, waiting for the older man to show. If this were some alternate reality, there would be candles, flowers, and a McCree tending to his every need with a smile and a wink. But as painstakingly romantic the cowboy is at even the worse of times, he knows to hold off the heavy wooing at times like these. The times like after a grueling mission when the archer is most likely to bite his head off for the smallest of things. Like exsisting. 

Now, Hanzo just feels sweet, calming relief as he unravels scarf from his hair and tosses it at the cowboys general direction, alerting the other man of his presence and effectively startling him out of his game. When McCree looks up, he smiles like the sun.

"Howdy, Han." He chirps, tossing the tablet away as Hanzo slowly makes his way to his side of the bed. The cowboy takes in the mans hunched posture, the baggy eyes and the soot all over his boyfriend before blowing a low whistle. "Ya look like shit." 

_I feel like shit_ , Hanzo wants to reply, but instead settles with a low grunt. If its acknowledgment or dismissal McCree doesn't ask, instead leans back as his dragon works on the first item off his list, reaching for the latch behind his left knee in comfortable silence.

_Bliss_. As soon as Hanzo presses the release, the synthetics around his leg loosens like cloth and with a satisfying groan, slides the leggings off, in McCrees words, 'like silk stockings off a fair miss' (he'd earned a kick for that, even if the metaphor was apt). 

"Always a pretty sight, darlin'," the ridiculous man says just like the first time, and with no less awe. Setting aside the first casting the archer rubs on the sore calve muscle before repeating the process on the right leg with no less relief.

Hanzo works as methodically as the first, placing the unused synthetic alongside its paired and with that he stands, wobbly, streching his sore legs with a tired grunt. Just as Hanzo limps over to the shower, he feels McCree lightly tug on his _obi_ , halting him.

"Hold up there, Han." The younger man releases the garment when Hanzo turns, reaching down to grab his decorated arm and slightly tugs him back toward the bed. 

Hanzo sighs. He's way too tired to go along with whatever his boyfriend had planned. "Jesse," he protests, without realizing how dry his throat's become. It feels like gravel. "I just want a shower and some sleep. I'm not in to mood for-"

"Oh, c'mon! You look like you're gonna topple right on over the second you get in the bathroom. " More insistent tugging. "I ain't gonna do anythin'. Promise." He swings his legs over the side of the bed and pats his knee with his prosthetic, grinning like a fool all the way. "Prop your legs right here, c'mon. "

Whether Hanzo was curious, or too lethargic to argue, he can't say, but he gave in, sitting back on the bed with his sore legs over McCree. The cowboy trails his fingertips, flesh and metal and _warm_ , over the overworked muscles. The archers breath hitches and his lover chuckles, deep. "Just lay yourself back, darlin'," his flesh fingers edges the tight fabric on his knees and he _slides_ \- "an' let me work my magic fingers."

And work they did and magic they are. Hanzo barely had a moment to blink before McCrees dexterous digits squeeze, pull, caress, and _god_. Hanzo couldn't hold back a startled moan crawling out his throat. The cowboy above is certainly enjoying the reactions, going by the bumbling endearments pouring out his mouth.

What felt like several euphoric hours only took a few minutes as McCree quietly switches legs, but not without raising the archers knees to his lips in a chaste kiss. Hanzo could feel the dragons rumble through his body in contentment.

After a while spent in comfortable, warm silence, nothing but Hanzos groans of pleasure and McCrees slightly harsh breathing, the cowboy finishes the other leg with a slow long rub upward, raising the one and planting a second short peck on its center. Short, sweet and Hanzo couldn't feel anymore loved if Mccree actually did go with candles.

McCree doesn't stop there. His flesh hand travels past his knee, past his thigh, past silk and harden flesh and muscle, where he stops, barely tracing the overgrowing stubble around his jaw and that's where the cowboy decides to lean over Hanzo and kiss him, full, deep and scorching. And he would be a fool not to accept, boldly throwing his arms around the American to pull him deeper.

Later, when McCree pulls away, he huffs, breathless and happy, dancing his fingers lightly across the archers darkened bags and ungroomed beard. "Ain't no rest for the wicked, is there?"

Hanzo huffs as well, good natured, and kisses the younger mans fingertips. Because no, there never is. Especially not for two seasoned warriors on a lifetime quest for redemption, in a world that gives so little in return. What the world did give them, they took so long to grab, because of past faults, as well as petty pride and ego, but against all odds, it worked and here they are, two former crimnals together as heroes in a world that claims to no longer need them, and as lovers for when the world grows hard on them both.

When tomorrow comes, McCree will go off on a mission in Dorado, and the same will happen to him, as it was with Hanzo. He will come back in days time and the warm routine with start anew, this time with Hanzo waiting in the side, as the cowboy peels off his serepe and chest plate. The archer will give comfort where its due, and McCree will purr under his touch, elated and loved.

But until then, Hanzo still needs his overdue shower, so he gets up and pulls McCree with him, who's laughing full-heartily along the way.


	2. And your loves always been true as can be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree comes back, and the favor is returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well shit. Still not jojo porn.
> 
> Got 100 kudos on this thing and didn't piss people off, so I decided to do a sequel. 
> 
> It's completely self-indulgent, I won't even lie. It's cheesier, and I like cheese
> 
> Its all over the place too, meeeh.

In any other circumstance, it would take a divine intervention to get McCree to leave Dorado. He loved the lights that shine overhead like stars, the old, yet familiar music playing all around, and the kind people dancing as if the rest of the world doesn't matter.

(Here he kissed the love of his life for the first time under these very lights, and was kissed back with fire in his heart and tequila on his tongue. ) 

Right now though, thanks to the local gangs, a Talon sniper, and a double shot of whisky, McCree wants to do nothing but sleep for the rest of the week. The mission was successful, he can count his lucky stars for that, but definitely not without some scrapes and bruises. Or in the cowboys case, a bloody lip, sparking arm, and a hole through his prized serape. 

He groans aloud aboard the carrier. At least he has spares.

Later, when the craft lands safely in Gibraltar, the cowboy finds himself double teamed by both Morrison and Angela, much to McCrees chagrin, because _he's fine, he swears, it's just his arm, he's gonna give it to Torb, no he doesn't need an ice pack, he just wants his bed and his grumpy archer._ Of course, the cowboy never gets his way. That's why he's walking out the door of the infirmary, armless, with an ice pack and a lollipop, because he deserves it.

Trending down the barracks corridors, McCree briefly contemplates heading for Hanzos room, before he realizes that he's standing in front of his own. A habit that never quite went away, he muses and pushes open the door, deciding that he could just take his gear off before heading that way. The minute he steps inside, though, he promptly forgets all of his initial plans.

Hanzo, in all his wonderful glory, is in his bed, sleeping, looking like life punched him straight in the face and knocked him out. The archers hair is down, dressed in casuals, and the bags under his eyes look worse than they did when he left. McCree doesn't know what prompted this display. Normally Hanzo would come to him sometime after he's safetly dressed down, or the cowboy would go to his room instead. He's not complaining, in fact, the American feels a bit warm at the sight, if not slightly concerned. 

All that can wait though, as McCree tosses the ice pack at some unknown direction and bites through the rest of the sucker, he decides to slide himself next to the resting archer. He swings his good arm over Hanzos waist with a sigh, hat, serape, and chestplate be damned. 

"Jesse."

Eight minutes in, McCree's starting to drift and that's when he hears the raspy bark of his name from his bed partner. Blinking off the drowsiness and yawning, the cowboy puts on his best smile for the archer, who is wide awake and sporting his usual frown.

"Howdy, Han," he yawns again and huddled closer to Hanzo. "'M back."

Hanzo huffs as he sits up and out of McCrees hold. The American whines, but abruptly yields, noticing his casual _jinbei_ slipped down his left shoulder and _damn_. He barely bats an eye these days at Hanzos battle attire, to save himself an earful from both Hanzo _and_ Morrison, but here, in the privacy of his own quarters at six in the evening, the sight of that majestic tattoo barely peaking out his barely exposed shoulder feels strikingly warm and intimate. McCree finds himself loving the dragon even more.

"Up, Jesse," the archer almost barks, and the cowboy whines again, spell broken. He complies, however, because he could never say no to Hanzo, and props himself up on his good arm. "Off with this," the archer takes McCrees loosely worn hat and sets it on top the end table, "and this," he then starts carefully unwrapping the damaged serape from around the younger mans neck. Then he notices the missing limb with a raised eyebrow, slightly alarmed. Hanzo must be more tired then he shows.

"Sniper," McCree informs with a shrug, "didn't see 'em on time. Reinhardt did, he pulled me in behind his shield on time, but my arm took the hit. I reckon Torb should have it runnin' in a few days."

Hanzo is silent for a long moment, his hands clenching on the serape like a lifeline. It wasn't until McCree calls his name out softly that he gets some form of response. "Jesse McCree, you will be the death of me." 

McCree doesn't know what to say to that, so he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. He knows full and well how that's like though.

Hanzo takes a deep breath and throws the cloth at the foot of the bed, much to McCrees displeasure, then works on his metal chestplate diligently. The archer's seen how it detaches numerous times, but that doesn't seem to stop the frustrated scowl forming.

Hanzo won't let the cowboy help, damned pride, so McCree sits back, watching as the older mans fingers find the small latches and buckles holding his armor together. The shadows under his eyes are a lot more prominent than when he was asleep and wrinkles are forming around his eyes and the cowboys heart chenches in a bad way. The archer looks worse now then when he came back days ago. Its probably his fault too. 

Hanzo finally unhooks one side of his plates, and McCree notices the silence becoming more deafening. So he says the first thing that comes to mind.

"Marry me."

He can count on one hand how many times he's seen Hanzo blush (first flirt, the confession, first kiss, first _time_ , Genjis teasing the morning after, and he treasures every one), but this was more brilliant than any of those combined, the cherry red bright against his skin, and spreading down to his chest. 

" _Nani?_ " Hanzo's so surprised he's not even speaking English. McCree doesn't quite know how to take that. To be fair, he can't believe it either.

"Right," McCree starts, unlatching the rest of the armor, since Hanzo became dreadfully still, and pulling it aside. He takes one of the archers hands and takes a deep breath. If he's doing this, he should at least pretend he's not half-assing it. 

"Hanzo." He can do this. He didn't think he would be doing this any time soon, but he's doing it. "I love you." He can feel his voice trembling. "An'... I dunno what to say, other than the whole lot of cliches people throw durin' these things, but I'll sing every cliche I have ta offer you, if you want, darlin'." He slightly hopes he doesn't have to go that far. 

That is when he realises that he's proposing to the love of his life right after a mission and missing an arm. Then he laughs. 

Hanzo seems to have sobered slightly at this, judging by the very _very_ tight grip in McCree good hand, but the blush remains vibrant on his suddenly offended face. The archer was about to pull away, before the younger man tugs him back, slightly ending his abrupt laughter in a snort. 

" _Jesse McCree._ " That's the tone that says 'I love you, but that can change real quick', so McCree shapes up.

"Sorry, Han. It's just... I'm missin' an arm and your missin'... a few winks of sleep, honestly." He chuckles, and Hanzo visibly relaxes, but the questioning frown remains, along with the flush. "But, really, I want this. We're pushin' fourty, and if its one thing this life's taught me, its to grab what I can an' not ever let go. 'Cause I got too many friends names on too many tombstones, an' I know that we ain't got the safest of jobs, but I don't want to regret passin' this up when my names finally chipped on one," the cowboy finishes with a long breath. He wants to say more, but the look on unreadable look on Hanzos face makes him tense up. 

"Jesse." The archers free hand is carefully placed on the small of his neck and are his eyes _tearing up_? McCree is about to call the whole thing off before the older man smiles, soft and sweet, at his lover.

Contrary to what most would say, Hanzo can smile. Back then, when he barely gave anyone a second glance, the days when he was little more than 'brother killer', the statement would hold true. Now, he smiles when Lena congratulates him on a mission well done. He smiles when Reinhardt makes a breakfast worthy of an army, smiles when Hana and Lucio invite him to a stream, smiles when Genji activity seeks him out for company. He smiles the most for McCree though, tender almosts for behind closed doors, sardonic grins during training, or larger, teath bearing beems after a mission together, adrenaline wearing off and gigging like lovesick teenagers. 

This is a league on its own. It's the smile you see when one sees their partner at the alter, and McCree can't breathe.

"Jesse McCree." Hanzo sighs, picking out his words carefully. "I never had many choices growing up. I've always done what was expected of me, regardless of my own thoughts on the matter. It was always to please my father and the Shimada-gumi. Even when I," He pauses, but McCree knows what he means. The younger man squeezes his hand. He doesn't judge, he can't. "...When I left, that didn't feel like my choice either, it felt like exile, and punishment, and for years I believed that. Until I saw Genji again, and he gave me my first choice. And it was the second best decision I had made." Hanzo pauses once more. If it's for dramatic effect, or to simply watch McCree squirm, he won't say, but he brings McCrees tight fist to his lips for a chaste kiss, bears that achingly sweet smile again and the cowboy knows he's done for. 

"Choosing you being the first."

If that wasn't a yes, McCree will shoot his own foot.

Later, at dinner, celebrations are made; Genji cries, Lena congratulates in an excited blur, Reinhardt and Torb both drink, Morrison raises his glass and Angela hugs- a first for Hanzo. Hana laments the lack of a ring, but offers a good place in Seoul. Lucio offers to play at their wedding. Junkrat attemps to blow up a warehouse. When all give their heartfelt congratulations to the happy couple, dinner is served and the night continues almost normally, only louder, drunker and happier. 

Now though, McCree pushes Hanzo down on his bed, kisses him hot and hard, and their own celebration comes first in a rush of lust and fire. McCree groans and Hanzos tattoo slightly glows, and for once the world waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See. Cheese.
> 
> Now to the jojo. And to possibly piss them off.


End file.
